


(One Inch Of Love Is) One Inch Of Shadow

by TheSchubita



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Abduction, Allusions to possible future character death, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Aphrodisiacs, Body Horror, Brainwashing, Cults, Force-Feeding, Forced Pregnancy, I'm not sure if it counts as stockholm syndrome?, John is a God with Tentacles, Lovecraftian, M/M, Mindfuck, Monsters, Mpreg, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ritual Sex, Rituals, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, a fuckton of Symbolism, but not feederism, due to monster pregnancy, monster births, monster pregnancy, the other boys are his (brainwashed) concubines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSchubita/pseuds/TheSchubita
Summary: “You’re so ripe, Roger,” he presses another kiss to his forehead, this one lingering, and Roger feels himself float again, only not arching into the fleeting touch because he’s still fucking paralyzed. “So ripe for me,” John repeats. “Let’s go home.”Roger doesn’t know anything beyond that, darkness swallowing him.He dreams of the sea..Prompts from the Must Fuck Weekend: (Tentacle) Monster / Aphrodisiacs / "I am (insert God/Goddess of Desire/Lust). Prove your devotion (by having sex with me) or perish."
Relationships: John Deacon/Brian May/Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 24
Kudos: 64
Collections: Queen Must Fuck Weekend





	(One Inch Of Love Is) One Inch Of Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Whooo Boy! Let's get our Freak On! 🐙
> 
> I have no excuse except that I wanted to write Tentacle Porn. You have been warned.
> 
> Thank you, @Tikini and @emma_and_orlando, for hosting this!
> 
> PS: I tweaked the God of Lust prompt ;) Hope it still counts.
> 
> ALSO please read the tags, this might be sensitive or triggering to some people.
> 
> .
> 
> This work is purely fictional and is meant for fandom only. If you're one of the people mentioned here, please don't proceed. If this shows up on any social media shared with the guys (Insta, Twitter) I'll come to your house and breathe loudly till you take it down ☺.
> 
> One thing that is important to me is that everything is tagged appropriately. If you read something that you feel should be tagged, please tell me. I want no one to be uncomfortable, or worse, triggered by something I didn't catch.
> 
> Also, English is not my first language, and I'm always willing to learn - if you catch something weird, you're free to tell me, as long as you're nice about it ;).

There’s been eyes on Roger for the whole night. Roger can feel them following him, the hunger radiating from their gaze, making his skin prickle with anticipation, but he can’t spy anyone in the sea of bodies, the flashing light of the disco making it hard to even make out his own hand properly.

More than once, hands wander over his body, and Roger lets them, needs to feel something tangible right now, desperate for touch; yet, he doesn’t take up anyone on their offers – he can tell they’re not belonging to the eyes staring at him, following him wherever he goes.

After what feels like endless hours of dancing, rubbing against whatever bodies were near, Roger is parched, sweat clinging to everything he’s wearing, hair plastered uncomfortably to his face and neck, skin flushed. He makes his way through the mass of equally sweat soaked people, until he finally reaches the bar, which is unfortunately equally packed like the dancefloor, and Roger groans, desperate for anything cold and liquid.

“Hey,” a voice says suddenly from his left, strangely loud in the wave of noise, and Roger turns.

Grey, almost silver eyes meet his, looking at him lazily through hooded lids. The bloke has a lithe build, slightly taller than Roger, with long, wavy hair, and broad hands. He’s pretty – no, Roger shakes his head, he’s stunning, almost ethereal. The clothes he’s wearing are tight, leaving exactly nothing to the imagination. Also, he sticks out like a sore thumb, looking remarkably put together, as if he’d gotten in to work, and not to dance and fuck.

They’re also the eyes following him the entire night, Roger is sure.

“Hey,” Roger smiles, shuffling closer. “So, was it you stalking me the entire night, huh?”

“It was,” the bloke says, looking unashamed of the fact. “I’m John.”

“John,” Roger licks his lips. “I’m Roger.”

“Roger,” the bloke – _John_ – purrs, as if savoring his name on his tongue, his eyes flashing brighter for a second. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Roger grins.

John returns it, something predatory about it.

Roger shivers.

.

“I’ve never seen you around before,” Roger tells John a bit later, when they’ve found a sort of quiet corner, so they don’t have to shout.

John hums, sipping idly at his drink. “I don’t go out often,” he says, tilting his head slightly, staring at Roger. In fact, John hasn’t stopped staring at him once. It shoots sparks down Roger’s spine; he feels flattered, almost wanting to preen, but at the same time, the intensity of his eyes is kind of unsettling.

“’s a shame,” Roger says, taking another large gulp of his drink, more than pleasantly buzzed. “We could’ve met much earlier, then.”

John continues to look at him, a strange smile forming. Then, he leans over, cupping Roger’s chin with his broad hand, rubbing over his lower lip. “So eager,” he muses, continuing to ghost his fingers over Roger’s face. Roger feels his cheeks warm in embarrassment.

“Do you want to dance?” Roger asks, then, because if John continues to touch him like that, he’ll let himself get fucked right here, in the middle of the club. The touch of his skin is electric, making heat pool low in his gut.

“I’d love to,” John says, taking his hand.

.

John is a fantastic dancer, moving like he’s dancing on waves of the ocean, holding Roger close, hands roaming all over Roger’s body. Not long after they’d joined the numerous bodies Roger feels some sort of haze taking over, making him feel sluggish, the music further and further away as time went by. Roger was only still painfully aware of John’s body, almost cool in the overbearing heat in the club, and Roger clung desperately to him.

Hands continue to caress him, his chest, his waist, his shoulders, skirting over his arse as well, and Roger is helpless to the moan escaping him. John chuckles against his skin, pressing an open-mouthed kiss on his throat. Roger whines, completely pliant – he just barely can form the thought that he wants _more_.

“Come with me,” John says, tugging him gently with him, guiding him away from the mass of people, the cool night air hitting Roger almost like a freight train. He stumbles, trying to catch his footing sluggishly.

“I – I feel weird,” he mumbles, eyes closed in concentration, everything shaky.

“Oh, I know, sweet one,” John says, helping him stand, tugging him close to his side. “It’s alright, I’ll take care of you.” Roger hums, stumbling along with wherever John is going.

“Where are we going?” He manages to slur out, stumbling again, slipping out from under John’s arm, almost falling flat on his face.

“The sea,” John says, lifting him up in his arms as if he weighed nothing.

“You’re strong,” he says against John’s chest, still cool to the touch. “Why the sea?”

“I live there,” John answers, and when Roger looks up, his eyes are shining in the relative darkness of the streets.

“Must be nice, living by the sea,” he mumbles. John smiles, the dim light of a street lamp casting eerie shadows on his face.

“I’ll show you,” John tells him, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead.

Somewhere, deep inside, Roger’s instincts are screaming at him, begging him to leave, but John feels so nice, is so sweet to him, and Roger can’t quite get enough from him, from his touch, so he merely closes his eyes.

“You sweet, pretty thing,” he hears John croon to him. Roger feels like he’s floating. “You’ve been so lonely, so desperate for something more, something meaningful in your life, haven’t you?” John speaks, his voice soft like gentle waves under moonlight. “I’ve heard you, sweet thing,” he continues. “I’ll take you far away from all of this misery, give you a real purpose. Would you like that?”

Roger frowns, suddenly feeling more alert, weakly struggling in John’s arms. “None of that,” John chuckles, hand brushing over his face again, causing Roger to freeze – literally. He can’t move, can’t even wiggle his toes. _‘He’s drugged me,’_ he realizes dimly, even as the haze from earlier returns full force. _‘Somehow, he fucking drugged me.’_

“No –“ he manages to gasp out, even as he is helpless, hanging limp in John’s arms.

“You’re so magnificent, so strong-willed,” John marvels, completely indifferent to Roger’s struggle. “I’ve heard you, days ago, singing to the sea – singing to _me_ ,” he continues.

The fuck was he _on_? Roger wonders, mouth downturned unhappily, but then he remembers; he’d been sitting on the stony beach with a few mates, and they’d sung along the radio, fashioning themselves the next Beatles or something.

“See,” John says, looking far ahead. “I heard you, and I came, for you. You’ll be perfect, lovely one,” he says, tender like a lover. “And when I saw you, when I _smelled_ you,” he sighs, looking almost rapturous. “You’re so ripe, Roger,” he presses another kiss to his forehead, this one lingering, and Roger feels himself float again, only not arching into the fleeting touch because he’s still fucking _paralyzed_. “So ripe for me,” John repeats. “Let’s go _home_.”

Roger doesn’t know anything beyond that, darkness swallowing him.

He dreams of the sea.

.

Roger has to claw himself to consciousness again, like he’s underwater, but he manages, groaning softly as he manages to pry one eye open.

He’s somewhere warm, the air humid, smelling sharp like wet, rotting leaves. He’s laying on something soft, despite being on the ground – blankets and fur, he realizes. The cave he’s in (and, oh god, where the fuck is he?) seems to be of natural origin, billions of years carving out stone, wave by wave, year by year, light being reflected from somewhere, lighting it up in a waning light. However, there are some carvings here and there, but they don’t fit together – as if many, different cultures had left their mark over the millennia. Vines are curling along the grey stone, a strange, deep red color Roger’s never seen before, entirely without leaves.

“Oh, you’re awake,” a voice says from next to him, and Roger jumps – or rather, he manages to jerk slightly, as his body is still sluggish, unnaturally heavy. He looks up at a pretty young man, and Roger doesn’t know if he’s relieved or not that it’s not John, but another stranger instead. The bloke has dark, slightly wavy hair, and skin that suggests it would’ve been darker at one point, but pale as if he’s never seen sunlight for a long while. He has strong features, gentled by the dark, soulful eyes gazing at him.

“Wh’r – who’r’ –“ he begins, throat horribly dry.

“Here, take a sip,” the bloke offers kindly handing him a cup. “It’s just water, I promise,” he adds knowingly, when Roger begins to look mulish. Thirst winning out over wariness, he lets the bloke guide his head towards the cup, greedily drinking. “I’m Freddie, by the way,” the bloke – _Freddie_ adds. “You’ve been out terribly long dear, we were starting to get worried. Beloved overdid it a bit, but you seem awfully stubborn,” he laughs, but Roger doesn’t feel like laughing.

“Who’s ‘ _Beloved’_ – where am I, for that matter?” He manages to croak out.

“Mh? Oh, Beloved introduced himself to you as John, I’m sure,” Freddie says, and Roger is really beginning to feel freaked out by the hazy, almost rapturous way he says ‘ _Beloved’_. “And, Beloved has brought you home, home to us,” Freddie tells him, as if he fully believes the words spewing out of his mouth.

“No,” Roger shakes his head, panic surging up. “ _Nononono_ –“ fuck, fuck, he’s been fucking abducted by some psycho, has no idea where the fuck he is, and here’s someone completely brainwashed – God knows since when Freddie’s been here, how long Roger will be here, what fucking will happen to him –

“No, _oh_ , darling, _hush_ , it’s alright,” Freddie soothes as Roger’s breathing starts to come out in gasps, as if he’s dying. “I know, you’re scared, but it’s going to be alright. I was so scared too, all alone with Beloved, but I promise, you’ll understand, hush, _sweet one_ –“ Freddie continues to soothe him, whispering out sweet nothings as he holds Roger close as he falls apart in a stranger’s arms.

Eventually, Roger manages to calm himself, with some help from Freddie, feeling exhausted.

“There we are,” Freddie says encouragingly, brushing away Roger’s tears with his thumb. “I’m so happy you’re here,” he says. “Brian’s lovely, but he’s getting quiet, now that he’s so indisposed –“ Roger has no idea what he means or who the fuck Brian’s supposed to be, but Freddie keeps talking. “– and, oh, I forgot, you must be hungry, dear! It’s been almost four days.”

On cue, his stomach growls, but Roger barely notices, his face turning white.

“ _Four_?” he asks, close to tears.

“Yes, lovie,” Freddie smiles. “As I said, Beloved overdid it a bit – he’s sorry, though.” _Overdid what_ , Roger wants to ask, because he still has no idea how John drugged him by just _touching_ him. “Here,” Freddie continues, reaching between the folds of – what was that, a damn dress? No, like someone just draped a see-through sheet around him. “They’re very nourishing, but the taste – it will take some time getting used to, I’m afraid,” he says, apologetic.

In his hands are some fist-sized fruits, vaguely reminding Roger of pomegranates, but the color is off – darker, the flesh more liquid. Roger doesn’t really want to eat it, but he’s so fucking hungry, he’d eat a fucking grilled rat, so he’ll take the funky looking fruit.

The first bite he takes, with Freddie handfeeding him as he’s apparently too weak to lift his own damn arms, is sweet, heavy, flavor exploding in his mouth, and Roger just starts to wonder what Freddie means, when the aftertaste hits, bitter and acidic, as if rotten, and he spits the remaining fruit out, heaving, stomach rolling.

“I know,” Freddie says, rubbing a hand over Roger’s back – his naked back, and why the fuck is he naked, where are his fucking clothes, why the fuck hadn’t he _noticed_? “But you’ll have to eat it, lovie,” he gently insists, bringing up the fruit again. “Every last bite – you’ll have to be ready.”

_Ready for what_ , he wants to asks, mouth already opening, but Freddie takes the opportunity to shove the vile fruit into his mouth, holding him in place as he gags around it, effectively cutting off any questions. Apparently, Freddie means it when he insists he eats it, because Freddie doesn’t let up until Roger has no other choice but to swallow it down.

“I’m sorry,” Freddie sighs. “Please, just eat it. You’ll need the strength, trust me.”

Roger suddenly doesn’t feel like talking to him, feeling betrayed, despite knowing Freddie was brainwashed, in the same, awful situation as he was in.

He eats the damn fruit under Freddie’s watchful gaze, Freddie’s hands carding through his hair as he hums a melody.

Roger wants to go home.

He doesn’t stop the fresh well of tears, feeling helpless.

Freddie continues to soothe him, continues to feed him, and Roger feels ashamed that he curls into his touch, glad for at least some kind of comfort.

.

He must’ve fallen asleep again, because he comes to when it’s almost completely dark, the light that previously was reflected into the cave now almost absent, the world grey.

If possible, he feels even more sluggish than before, though the trembling feeling was gone, likely of him having been fed – his stomach rolls again at the memory of the fruit, the aftertaste still present.

The air has even grown warmer, more humid, clinging to Roger’s skin uncomfortably like a blanket he can’t shake off. Dimly, he hears waves crashing against stone in a steady rhythm, remembers John’s words from – God, from four days ago; he’s somewhere by the sea, which doesn’t tell him much – he knows there are no caves, natural or otherwise anywhere near where he’s living.

He bites back a sob, heaving himself up on his elbows with great difficulty. There’s no chance he can get away like this – he doubts he’ll be able to crawl, let alone walk, and he has no idea where he’d have to go, too. At least, there’s no one here, not sweet, horribly brainwashed Freddie, or John, or whoever the fuck Brian was.

Looking around, he realizes he’s in a tiny crack in what must be a much larger cave, the space barely big enough for two people. Outside it, there’s some dim light, warm and with shadows occasionally dancing, likely a lantern, and then Roger becomes aware of the sounds just outside, having gone unheard by him due to the crash of the waves. Now that he’s heard it, however, he can’t stop.

Someone – several someone’s, he realizes – are moaning loudly, wantonly, the sound bouncing off the carved stones, creating an eerie echo. The moans are frenzied, ecstatic, accompanied by the lewd slap of bodies meeting; whoever’s getting fucked is clearly getting the fuck of their life.

Even as he thinks it, he feels himself grow hard against the soft furs under him, his cock already leaking. He shudders, cheeks flaming as he feels shame well in him; whoever’s getting fucked is like being – being _raped_ , and Roger should not find this arousing, no matter how enthusiastic the person(s?) sound.

He rolls himself to the side with some difficulty, a dry sob escaping him as even the smallest brush of fur has his cock twitching. He grabs it, wanting to stave of the growing hardness, trying to think of disgusting things, but he’s bucking into his hand as soon as he touches himself, a lustful haze descending on him immediately, leaving everything blurry. All he can manage to focus on is his hand around his cock, the suffocating humidity of the air, choking him, and the fucking _sounds_.

Roger feels like he’s burning from the inside, thighs twitching as he strokes himself with the rhythm of the moans outside his little nook, with the rhythm of the waves, both pulling and pushing at him like the tide. He barely understands what’s happening to him, everything falling away, unimportant as he tries to quell whatever it is he needs.

Another sob escapes him, this time out of frustration, the friction on his cock not enough, and he reaches around, his finger teasing along his entrance, and he gasps, eyes fluttering as he rubs over his hole more firmly, the consuming burn in his chest subsiding just a fraction; he needs –

Unceremoniously, he pushes a finger in, with surprising ease – he frowns, his brain informing him through his clouded mind that it shouldn’t be that easy – it should hurt, he should be dry, but – he’s not exactly wet, not like a girl, but he’s sliding along to something. Barely caught, the thought leaves him, thighs twitching as he presses another finger in, fucking himself frantically, cock rutting into his other hand.

Nothing else matters, nothing but the burn in his chest, his almost boiling skin, and the delicious, desperate need for release, demanding to be quenched.

Outside, the moans and slaps and other lewd sounds grow in urgency, and Roger, completely attuned, grows more desperate as well, toes already curling in anticipation as he sloppily fucks himself on his fingers as best as he can. Then, a high-pitched scream of pleasure cuts through Roger’s dazed state of mind, quickly followed by another, slightly lower drawn-out moan, and just like that, Roger comes, spilling over his hand and the furs underneath, clenching tightly around his fingers as he smothers a moan into a blanket.

He manages just pulling out his fingers from his arse, wiping his hands blindly on the furs and blankets under him, feeling sated.

He’s still quivering with the aftershocks, eyes closed, but the weird, all-consuming haze leaves him with each breath, and with it lessening, awareness returns to him slowly, the horrible realization dawning on what he just _did_.

Biting his lip so hard that it bleeds, he tries to stifle his sobs, not wanting to attract any attention.

A hand lands in his hair, and he knows he’s failed.

“Oh, sweet Roger,” and, oh God, it’s John. He chokes on another, violent sob, burying his face in the furs. A gentle, yet insistent hand turns his face, gripping his jaw. “Come, open your eyes, it’s alright,” John coaxes, and Roger can’t resist the pull of his voice, hating himself as he opens teary eyes to look up at him.

Shining, silver eyes meet his, crinkled by a tender smile. John looks much the same as yest– as four days ago, except that he’s naked, hair wind-swept. Strange markings curl under his skin, not unlike the reddish vines on the cave-walls. Roger can’t really see his reflection in John’s eyes; in fact, _nothing_ reflects in them, the light coming from within.

_John isn’t human._

“Oh,” Roger gasps out, horrified, fascinated. John gives him another, secret smile.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, lovely,” he tells Roger, leaning down to bring his arms under Roger, lifting him up in his arms with laughable ease. Roger wants to cry. John noses his sweaty hair, humming contently. “Seas, you are so ripe with it, Roger,” he sighs dreamily. “Couldn’t resist wanting to join us, hm? I heard you, sweet one,” he says, shifting him in his arms and standing up fully, slowly making his way out of the little, hidden nook Roger’s been residing in.

“You drugged me,” Roger manages to grunt, accusingly. “I didn’t want it – whatever you did to me, this isn’t – isn’t _me_ ,” he snarls weakly, his grip tightening around John’s hair.

“Isn’t it?” John wonders, looking down at him curiously.

“No!” Roger insists. “You fucking – you fucking abducted me to – to what?” He asks, begs, really. He wants answers.

Minutely, the markings under John’s skin shift, as if they were alive, and Roger desperately tells himself it’s a trick of the light.

“I brought you home,” John corrects gently. “You belong with me, even if you don’t know it yet.” He carries him through an opening, entering a bigger cave, alight with several lanterns. In the very middle of it, there is a natural crater, which has been functioned into a nest. Freddie lies in it, skin glistening. Next to him lied another bloke, taller and ganglier, with wild curls and long, elegant fingers. Both are breathing heavily, their robes torn off and spawled almost artfully under them.

They’re both glistening as if they’d been doused in water, but as John carries him closer, Roger realized it’s neither water, or sweat, the substance looking more stickier, clinging to them both.

Both turn when they hear John approach, wide, tired smiles breaking out.

“There you are,” Freddie sighs, reaching out his arms. John lowers Roger into them immediately, Freddie wasting no time pulling him close, spooning him. Roger is left to face the stranger, which would have to be Brian.

“Hello,” Brian greets him, voice quiet and melodic, sweet even. He smiles gently at Roger, brushing a strand of hair out of Roger’s eyes. “I’m Brian. It’s nice to officially meet you, Roger.”

“He’s lovely, isn’t he?” John speaks up from where he’s kneeling at the edge of the nest, looking quite proud.

“Yes, Beloved,” Brian agrees. “He’ll do wonderfully.” John grins, looking both elated and smug, and Roger wants to punch him.

“What are you?” He snarls, covering up how terrified he is. “What do you want from me? Are you gonna r-rape me, too?" Behind him, Freddie gasps quietly, and Brian looks horrified, but John doesn’t even blink.

“Of course not, sweet thing,” he says, almost offended. “I’ll never hurt you, I’ll never _force_ you,” he continues, earnest, ignoring Roger’s unbelieving glare. “When the moon is ripe – the red moon, you’ll be ripe for me, too,” he promises. It sounds more like a threat to Roger. “It’s already begun,” John says, rubbing his ankle soothingly.

“Sure,” Roger says, voice dripping with venom, but John seems still so infuriatingly unperturbed.

“And as for who I am,” John mumbles, head tilted, thinking for a moment. “I am as old as the moon, older than the earth you walk on,” he speaks, looking far away. “I am the ocean, its waves, its storms – its very _life_ ,” he ends, smiling almost bashfully. “But, you’ll understand in due time.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Roger breathes, eyes wide and terrified, only causing John to chuckle.

“I thought you might be a bit lonely,” John says. “Brian and Freddie will take care of you. I have to return, now, the tide is almost at its zenith.”

Brian and Freddie sigh unhappily, but scoot closer to Roger, wrapping their skinny arms around him, their sweaty, sticky bodies pressed uncomfortably close to his. He refuses to – to hug them back, feeling torn and violated, terrified in a strange place with a strange creature, completely at its mercy.

“Sleep,” Brian mumbles, petting his hair. “It’s going to be alright.”

And despite everything, the pulsing fear isn’t enough to keep him awake for long, exhaustion dragging him into the darkness of his dreams.

.

Just like the first day, he wakes up dazed, limbs heavy and barely cooperating. Under his skin, there’s a faint buzz, not as intense at the one last night, but there, making him squirm in discomfort. The nest he’s in allows far more light in, the cave walls glittering from the water reflecting the sunlight from outside.

Warm bodies are wrapped around him, cradling him as if he’s precious, hands delicately brushing over his naked skin. With a grunt, he stirs, struggling to sit up, but he manages. Freddie and Brian follow him, clearly already awake.

“Good morning, dear,” Freddie says sweetly, brushing Roger’s long hair out of his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired – why am I still tired?” Roger asks, voice rough.

“It’s always tough on the body, in the beginning,” Brian says from his other side, and Roger turns to look at him. In the light, up close, Brian is undeniably beautiful, pretty hazel eyes paired with lush curls, milky white skin. He’s very skinny though, the sheer fabric wrapped around his frame doing nothing to hide it.

There’s a weird swelling at his abdomen, though, and Roger, dimly remembering some of his old Biology courses frowns at the very out of place bulge.

Brian just smiles knowingly. “Your body is adjusting, preparing. We don’t mind you sleeping though, don’t worry.”

That’s really not what Roger’s worried about.

“What’s happening?” He asks, desperate for an answer that’s not cryptic or unsettling. “I want to understand – what is this, this cult thing you’ve all got going on? What the fuck is John – if that’s even his – or _its_ name.”

“So many questions,” Freddie giggles. “You’ve got a bright mind, haven’t you?” He reaches for a few of the disgusting fruits from yesterday, handing them to Roger.

Roger pulls a face. “Can’t I eat, like, literally anything else?” He begs.

“Whatever _for_?” Brian wonders, genuinely confused. “They’ve got all you’ll ever need, and if you don’t eat them, you’re not going to be ready – and it hurts when you’re not.”

Oh, great, the fucking fruits are part of whatever psycho bullshit roleplay is going on.

“ _What_ will hurt? What the fuck is he going to do to me?” Roger bites out, trembling. “And you didn’t answer my question – what in the hell _is_ he?”

“He is Beloved,” Brian says, hand absentmindedly rubbing over his bulging stomach. “He was made to be worshipped, to be loved. Nothing else matters.”

“It matters to me,” Roger says, close to angry tears.

“I know,” Brian smiles, brushing a tender hand over his cheek. “But soon, it won’t. You’ll be like us – you’ll be _with_ us.”

“No, I don’t – I don’t want that. I’ll _never_ want that,” Roger shakes his head, trembling.

“You will,” Freddie says, unapologetic. “Now, eat.”

“No. Fuck you and your fruit – I’m not gonna be part of some - some ritualistic _fuckery_ ,” he snaps, trying to worm himself out of their arms, desperate to get away from these – these brainwashed _puppets_ , but his body isn’t cooperating.

Brian and Freddie share a look of amused exasperation, before Freddie grabs his arms, pushing him down and sitting on his middle while Brian pries his mouth open. Roger tries to struggle, he really does, but he only manages a few weak jerks, effectively pinned in his drugged state.

He sobs as Brian pushes the first bite of the rotten fruit past his lips, holding his mouth shut until the rotten taste seeping into his tastebuds is too much, and he has to swallow.

“There we are, love,” Brian says encouragingly. “We’ll take care of you, like Beloved said. Even if it’s against your will.”

“You’ll see,” Freddie adds, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the skin of his wrist where he’s holding him in place. “Everything will turn out alright.”

Roger is crying silently as more of the fruit is shoved down his throat, and he wants to be angry, he _is_ , but they’re not hurting him, they’re tender and sweet, and with each bite he’s forced to swallow he grows more fuzzy, the warmth of their bodies more prominent.

It’s with a choked sob he realizes he’s growing hard, realizes it’s the fucking fruit that’s doing this, but at the same time, he doesn’t care, wants more of this, more of _them_.

Freddie coos at him when he realizes as well, shifting in Roger’s lap until their cocks are brushing against each other, Freddie’s flimsy robe not doing anything to take the edge off their touch. Freddie rolls his hips down, rocking them together, and how in the world can Roger being hard like this, can find this erotic as he’s being fucking forced by some – some aphrodisiac fruit, trapped.

But the desire builds with each roll of Freddie’s hips, and then Brian shoves two fingers into his mouth, still dripping with the juice of the fruit, and Roger can’t think of anything at all except that there’s nothing that he’d like to do more, right now. Brian keeps fucking his mouth with his long, elegant fingers, humming contently at Roger’s eagerness to such on them, swirling his tongue around them to get the very last of the juice, suddenly not tasting awful at all, but intoxicating.

Through all of this, Freddie keeps rutting his hips against Roger’s, and already Roger can feel his orgasm fast approaching, the friction, the taste – everything delicious and wonderful, and Roger feels like he’s flying, and then Freddie leans down to suck at a nipple, everything going white as Roger screams in absolute pleasure, racing through him and setting out the burning fires that threatened to eat him alive.

It feels like it’s been hours when he comes down, still twitching uncontrollably under Freddie, whimpering at the feel of the tongue lapping up his come from his cock and stomach – Brian.

“Such a sweet boy for us,” Freddie says. “See? This is what is to come, what it will be like, only much grander.” He sounds dreamy, rapturous even as he rocks a little in Roger’s lap, still hard.

Brian sees it too, and he tugs Freddie off Roger. “Not yet,” he scolds. “You know he is Beloved’s, first.” Freddie mumbles out an apology.

The haze now fading, Roger curls into himself, eyes wide and unbelieving at the realization what happened – what he’d let happen, _wanted_ to happen. He turns away from the other two, back to them, but that doesn’t stop him from _hearing_ them, now thoroughly engaged with each other, Brian’s sweet moans and Freddie’s low grunts making it clear what’s happening despite Roger not being able to see them.

Roger whines as he feels himself get hard again at the sounds, just like last night.

He lies still through their lovemaking desperately wishing for his cock to stop reacting, but by the time they’re done, he’s a mess, hips twitching uncontrollably, and Brian rolls him to his back again. He fingers him open expertly, and Roger forgets to feel shame or anguish, _again_ , lost anew in the burn under his skin, desire coursing through his entire body, down to the very last atom.

Roger is beginning to lose himself.

The worst is, he’s beginning not to care.

.

He dozes for most of the day, in and out of consciousness, but he stays awake long enough to observe a few things. The carvings all along the cave walls tell a story, different cultures from different ages coming together in here, for what seems like worship, or even a cult.

Some carvings are lewd, and while Roger knows not every culture was as repressed about sex as today, many cultures descripting sex as part of their lives without shame, these carvings are – specific. Lewd, even depraved, showing people fucking a creature, inhuman yet strangely beautiful, with more limbs any living thing should have, the ancient face immortalized into stone blissful, as if nothing was as wonderful as that.

There are other pictures, of someone, likely some god they worshipped, stepping out from the sea, the people laying offerings to their feet. Sometimes, the deity is female, sometimes male, but every picture showing their face reminds Roger of John.

From what Roger can gauge, it’s some fertility cult, showing women in long, flowing robes, accentuating swollen bellies, hands raised in prayer.

Roger doesn’t know what the fuck he’d gotten himself into, but it doesn’t look good.

During the day, whenever he wakes, Brian or Freddie continue to feed him the trice-damned fruit, helping him sit up and give him water. When they aren’t occupied in over-feeding him fruit, they curl around him, hands brushing tenderly over his skin, once or twice even humming a wistful, almost yearning melody.

They also keep touching each other, nevermind that Roger was between them.

Roger wants to hate them, but the fucking aphrodisiac fruit makes him sluggish and pliant and so damn _horny_ , making him respond to the lightest touch, and Freddie and Brian welcome it, letting him rut against their warm bodies with encouraging little noises.

Time escapes him, Roger only dimly being aware that it was growing darker outside.

The amount of orgasms he’s had also escape him. It’s an endless cycle of the other two men cleaning him up and soiling him again, and Roger’s limbs grow sore as time passes.

And then John returns.

.

John walks through the entrance of the cave, naked and dripping saltwater, the sunset behind him bathing him in an ethereal light for a moment, before he fully rounds the corner.

Both Brian and Freddie jump up, throwing themselves into his arms excitedly. John catches them with ease, inhuman strength making it easy for him to lift them both off the floor, before setting them down so very carefully, as if they are precious to him, and not just some poor, brainwashed fuck dolls. Roger watches as he rubs a hand over Freddie’s belly first, and despite the skinniness, there’s a softness there; Johns face lights up, and then he does the same to Brian, quietly reprimanding him to take more care.

Then he turns to Roger.

Roger tries to squirm away, but he’s so heavy-limbed, he just manages to flop on his back gracelessly, before John crouches down, strong hands carding through his hair.

“What a little spitfire you are,” he marvels at Roger, leaning down to nose at his neck, all but purring. “I see you’ve had some fun with my loves, haven’t you?” He smiles as he sits up again, the other two men returning to their nest, huddling close to John as if they can’t bear to be apart from him any second more than absolutely necessary.

“Don’t – don’t touch me,” Roger grits out, curling to his side, eyes flashing at John.

John seems vaguely amused, but he does take his hand off Roger, backing off slightly.

“He’s still having trouble adjusting, Beloved,” Brian says apologetically, plastering himself to John’s side. “He’ll understand soon, I’m certain of it.”

“Oh, sweet one, you don’t have to apologize,” John laughs, pulling him for a quick kiss. “I remember you being even more stubborn in the beginning, weren’t you?” Brian chuckles breathily, sliding into John’s lap.

To Roger’s fascinated horror, Brian begins to rut against John’s thigh almost immediately, and John simply shifts him so Brian has easy access, the sheer robe sliding up, giving Roger a close-up view of Brian’s long cock sliding over John’s skin, occasionally slapping against his swollen belly.

Freddie seems to feel ignored, pouting as he slings his arms around John’s neck, kissing along the skin there.

“Easy,” John smiles fondly, manhandling the other two men around as if they weighed nothing, until both are sitting in his lap, one on each side. “Seem Roger’s arrival has you made very eager.”

“He’s so pretty and responsive,” Freddie sighs dreamily, and Roger scowls. “Can’t he join us tonight?” Roger freezes in horror at the question, but John tuts.

“Not yet, lovely one,” he shakes his head. “You know we must wait until the red moon rises, hm?”

“Beloved,” Brian says, nuzzling at John’s chest. “Can we celebrate anyway? To the new life joining the sea soon, and Roger joining us on the red moon?”

“Please,” Freddie asks.

“You’re both impossible,” John sighs, but he doesn’t look put out. “You know I can’t deny you –“ _apart from letting them leave_ , Roger thinks darkly. “– but we will celebrate in a manner that Roger recognizes – his time will come soon enough.”

Both Freddie and Brian pout, but don’t get around to complain further, as John presses them down next to Roger, tugging the sheer fabric off them, as if unwrapping presents.

Roger would be lying if he’d say he doesn’t find them attractive; already, his traitorous cock is stirring, but thankfully, none of the others pay him any attention. John is tenderly rubbing over Brian’s weirdly bulged stomach, and –

_Oh, God_. Something is moving underneath Brian’s skin, the same dark, winding vines appearing there on Brian’s stomach. It looks like it hurts, the stomach grotesquely deforming.

Brian moans in pleasure, John’s hand rubbing soothing circles over the bloated skin there. Freddie’s smaller hands join him, oddly reverent as he traces over the alien markings, the sigh escaping him wistful.

John notices as well, leaning over to press a lingering kiss to Freddie’s lips, cupping Freddie’s soft-looking stomach. “Soon,” John promises.

Roger’s head is spinning as he lies next to them, petrified of everything, unable to make sense of any of it – the answer lurking somewhere in the back of his mind, but he squashes it down; it’s impossible, no matter what the fuck John is.

Soon, though, his morbid thoughts disappear as John moves between Brian’s legs, Brian eagerly parting them, spread wide and inviting as John slots himself in the space there. And before Roger can blink, Brian tosses his head back in sheer ecstasy, John rocking forward with a content little sigh.

How? Yes, Brian and Freddie had fucked multiple times during the day, but there was no preparation, no lube – Brian should be in _pain_ , yet he’s moaning like a two-pound _whore_. Roger feels himself swallow at the fluid rhythm John sets, hips rolling sinfully, expertly into Brian, who’s already a sobbing mess.

Without thinking, he’s already palming at his own cock, transfixed at the two moving bodies; Brian is clearly at the mercy of John’s inhuman strength, yet John isn’t particularly rough – he’s downright gentle, petting at Brian’s face tenderly. The other hand is firmly cupping Brian’s stomach possessively.

A hand lands around his own, squeezing, making Roger twitch, before looking up at Freddie. Freddie isn’t looking at him, just as transfixed as Roger is by the other two, rocking a little, almost impatiently.

“Magnificent, isn’t he?” he asks Roger in a whisper, his face cast in drunk pleasure. “You should see him when he’s his real self, how much more pleasure he can give, then,” he continues, jacking Roger of faster. “I can hardly wait for you to receive it, you’re already so _eager_ – as if you were made for this – for Beloved.”  
  


Roger just moans weakly, hips jerking erratically into his’ and Freddie’s hand, hooded eyes still watching John fucking into Brian, whose wails reach almost deafening heights. John must do something, because from one moment to the next, Brian shoots up, clinging blindly to John as he comes, entire body convulsing violently.

John holds him steady through it all, hands rubbing over his belly and his back, humming a soothing melody – the same he’d heard Brian and Freddie hum earlier today.

Eventually, Brian stops twitching enough for John to lay him down again, slipping out of Brian. Roger has a good view of Brian’s hole, stretched open wide – and yeah, John’s got a pretty impressive cock going for himself, but Brian is fucking _gaping_ – way too much for the girth of John’s cock. Also, Roger is pretty sure John didn’t come, yet there’s – _something_ dribbling out of Brian. It doesn’t exactly look like come, but then again – John isn’t really human.

“Beloved,” Brian sighs out, rolling to his side, a blissful expression on his face as he absentmindedly rubs over his stomach.

Roger whines when Freddie lets go of Roger’s cock, crawling over to John, who’s awaiting him with open arms already. Brian rolls over to take up Freddie’s abandoned space, tucking Roger’s face to his sticky chest, hand snaking down to wrap around Roger’s cock.

“So pretty,” Brian sighs into Roger’s hair, making him whine at both the praise and the long fingers stroking him lazily. Behind Brian, there are familiar sounds of love-making, Freddie’s moans accompanied by the obscene sounds of flesh.

Then, Brian does something incredibly lewd; he reaches behind himself, scooping up some of – of whatever the fuck the sticky fluid is, and wraps his hand around Roger’s already wet cock again.

Roger goes _wild_.

The stuff is syrupy, sticking to Roger’s cock like honey, but that’s not while Roger is currently losing his mind; it’s making his cock pulse painfully, the pulses of pleasure, so fantastic it borders on the edge of painful, reach further with each beat of Roger’s heart, until _everything_ is drowning in pleasure. It’s unlike anything Roger’s ever felt (and he’s done some pretty wild stuff).

Every little part of him, right down to Roger’s very core, is frenzied, desperate to get off, or else he feels like he might burn out from the inside. He slots himself against Brian, his cock trapped between his stomach and Brian’s skinny thigh, searching for any kind of friction.

“There we are,” Brian coos, happy to let Brian use him as a humping pillow. Roger’s so far gone he’s drooling right onto Brian’s chest, choking at the over-stimulation that is yet not enough. “You’re doing so great, baby. You’ll be able to have this anytime.”

In Roger’s hazed out mind, that sounds like the best fucking thing he’s ever heard.

The head of his cock brushes over Brian’s bulging stomach, and something about it, the way Brian’s clearly _full_ , and Roger _isn’t_ , makes him growl, rutting more desperately directly against Brian’s belly.

Fingers tease over his rhythmically clenching and unclenching hole, Brian’s fingertip just barely dipping inside, and Roger comes all over the both of them with a strangled moan, the edge of his vision darkening until he sees stars.

“Perfect,” Brian praises him, kissing his ear, hands soothing down his spine. Roger just closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath, forcing him to feel shame about the whole thing, but – he feels so deliciously fucked out, and still wants more of it – he’s having trouble with feeling anything else but content bliss.

John and Freddie seem to be done too, as Freddie curls up behind Brian, brushing a strand of sweaty hair out of Roger’s eyes, cupping his cheek with a sweat-slick hand for a moment, before it wanders down to cup Brian’s stomach, covered with Roger’s come.

“What a lovely sight,” John says from above them, and Roger has to squint to make out his shape in the mostly dark space, though one lantern is casting a low, warm light into the cave, making shadows dance over John’s lovely face – and when had it been lit? Roger is pretty sure no one moved out of the nest.

“Beloved,” Freddie and Brian sigh in unison, and John leans down to press a kiss to their foreheads, before he scoops Roger up in his arms. Brian grumbles unhappily at the loss of Roger’s warmth.

“We won’t be long,” John promises. “I want to show Roger the sea,” he continues, and while Roger wants to protest, the other two men seem to be satisfied by the cryptic words.

.

True to his words, John carries Roger through the maze of caves, until they reach a small opening, just enough to squeeze through. It’s the first time Roger breathes fresh air in about five days, and he welcomes the wind on his face, saltwater spraying onto his overheated skin like a soothing balm. It’s dark out, the water completely cast in darkness, only stars reflecting on the moving surface of the tide.

“She welcomes you,” John tells him, as he sits down on the rocky shore. “She welcomes you home,” he continues, nuzzling at Roger’s hair happily.

“Thought you said you _were_ the sea?” Roger can’t help but point out. John just laughs, tossing his head back, the clear night providing just enough light to make John’s eyes glow silver.

“Oh, I am. I meant the sky – she’s always been my most adored companion, through all the loneliness of the ages I’ve lived – and she smiles upon you.” John’s voice is soothing as the sound of the ocean Roger hears.

“Why should she care?” He asks. “For that matter, why do you?”

“Because,” John begins, sounding wistful. “I was alone for so long, sweet thing,” he briefly looks down at Roger, silver eyes dimming for a moment with grief; despite himself, it makes Roger’s heart ache. “And all those thousands of years ago, when humans first crossed over my waters, I went to them – I sought them out, curious about those daring little things, and – out of wanting companionship, I suppose.”

Roger remains silent for a moment, trying to make sense of the words. “You’re – you’re trying to tell me you’ve, what? Been there since the first humans?”

“I am as old as the moon,” John repeats his words from yesterday. “I thought, surely, those ingenious little critters would be amusing if nothing else,” he laughs, eyes far away, fixed somewhere beyond the horizon. “I expected them to be terrified of me – so I took a form vaguely like theirs.

“Then, I stepped out of the sea, bringing them a gift – a fish large enough to feed their tiny village – and they fell to their knees instantly.” John sounds almost awed, as if he can’t still believe it, after all those thousands of years. “It turns out, they were desperate for proof of something more, of an explanation for being,” he muses, cradling Roger tighter in his arms. “And I was just – desperate, for affection, for being loved.

“Bullshit,” Roger croaks, heart beating fast. John frowns, shaking his head.

“They were so ready to be loved, Roger,” John explains. “ _To_ love. And in turn, I gave blessings to their hunts, and later their crops, and their unborn children; they gave me so many names; Ezili, Tefnut, Leviathan –“ he laughs a little at that one. “– Nanshe, Aphrodite, Freyr, Varuna – so many others, I can’t remember.”

Roger feels captivated, but also very small; he’s realized John couldn’t be human but –

“You’re a – a god? Goddess?” He wonders.

“Yes and no,” John shrugs, watching the waves. “To their – and your – understanding, I was – am. But all those deities humans have willed into being – I’m not like those.”

“I – don’t know if I understand,” Roger admits meekly.

John smiles down at him. “All I asked was for love,” John says. “And your ancestors, they were so ready to give it, that I grew dependent of it, to an extent, becoming used of having lovely things like you around, the life they gifted me – and when it all disappeared, over thousands of years, until no one remembered –“

“You were lonely,” Roger finishes for him, and pretends not to preen when John beams down at him with a sweet smile.

“Yes,” he agrees, praising Roger. “And eventually, it became too much, and I searched for humans like Freddie, like Brian, like _you_ , who would sing to the sea again – sing to me,” he looks over the vast ocean again, absentmindedly rubbing circles into Roger’s shoulders with a thumb.

“But – we can’t be the first in – in thousands of years,” Roger reasons. “What do you _want_?”

John splays a wide hand over Roger’s stomach, looking at him intently. “I want life – and you’ll give me that, just as Brian and Freddie have, and will again,” he intones, pressing slightly down, almost possessive; the same kind of possessive he’s seen John with Brian earlier.

With dawning horror, he realizes what John means, what’s up with Brian. “I’m a man,” he blurts out. “I can’t –“

“Do you think something like human biology matters to me?” John laughs, amused. “Don’t worry, sweet thing,” he says, rubbing his nose to Roger’s.

“I don’t want that – how could you think I _would_? I – I refuse,” Roger stutters out, trembling with fury, with fear. John looks momentarily surprised, but then he smiles indulgently, as if Roger were a child.

“Of course you do,” John tells him. “It’s written into your very being, wanting to be filled with love, with _life_.” Again, he presses down on Roger’s flat stomach, and Roger tries to squirm away, to no avail, still helpless in John’s arms.

“No,” Roger protests. It sounds weak to his own ears.

“Yes,” John disagrees, voice infuriatingly kind. “In three days, the red moon rises, and you will declare your devotion to me, and you’ll be given what you need, what you’ve asked for, all your lonely, miserable life, searching for something in the seedy clubs and between stranger’s legs; something only I can give you.”

Roger can’t stop the silent tears rolling down his cheeks at the words, cruel in their truth. John holds him, cradles him, and together, they watch the moonrise.

The moon is almost full.

.

The next three days blur into each other, and Roger has trouble grasping at a structured passing of time. He wakes up at random times, sometimes in darkness, with Brian and Freddie curled up next to him, sometimes in reflected sunlight, Freddie and Brian up and about.

They seem to be infallibly attuned to him, because as soon as Roger wakes up, they’re at his side, feeding him that fucking fruit. Roger has long since given up struggling; it’s easier if he eats it on his own volition, getting used to the taste, and the low buzz of pleasure coursing through him.

Through it all, Roger can’t seem to stop staring at Brian’s bulging – _pregnant_ belly with disgusted, horrified fascination, but he doesn’t dare ask.

Sometimes, he wakes up with them fucking next to him; when they realize he’s awake, they drag him near to touch him as one pounds into the other, taking advantage of Roger’s strange, hazy state of mind to get him off as well until Roger has thoroughly soiled the furs and blankets underneath him.

Once, he wakes up when everything is dark, with movement next to him; maybe he is still dreaming, because he can’t make head or tails of what he sees in the shadows, too many limbs for three people moving against the greyness of the night. For once, he falls right back asleep again.

The next time he wakes, it’s the day of the red moon.

.

It’s the first time he’s woken up, instead of coming to on his own, and it leaves him grouchy and disoriented.

Both Freddie and Brian seem more alert than usual, even downright excited as they help Roger get up, half-carrying him out of the nest, and Roger’s more or less on his feet for the first time in days, stumbling along like a new-born calf.

“It gets better, after today,” Brian promises after he leads him to a fresh-water source, a little natural well. “Your body is gonna settle, and you’ll feel much more like yourself again.”

Roger knows Brian is trying to soothe him in his own way, but the words make bile rise up, and he starts to shake.

“Oh, darling, don’t be nervous,” Freddie tries to console him as he sets him down next to the well, brushing fingers through Roger’s tangled hair. “We’re gonna make you all nice and ready, all prettied up for our Beloved – and he’ll soon be yours too,” he babbles, beginning to wash Roger, as Brian rubs something herbal into Roger’s hair.

Roger isn’t nervous – he’s terrified of what’s going to happen to him. He doesn’t want to end up like Freddie and Brian, brainwashed to be – to be _bred_ by some fuck-ass fertility god.

He’s never felt more defeated.

.

Brian and Freddie spend seemingly hours cleaning him, scrubbing off dirt and grime from every nook and cranny from his body, until his skin is red from the cleaning, his scalp still smarting from them brushing out all the tangles until it’s shiny and soft.

They wrap him in a robe similar to theirs, a dark indigo in color, before they adorn him with little chains made from gold and copper, the chains looking as if they’re more worth than the entire island of Great Britain.

Then, they take out a little wooden jar, filled with some sticky liquid, thicker than oil, colorless. They rub it all over his skin, and Roger’s half-hard from the first touch of it on his skin. He realizes dazedly it’s the same substance Brian used to jerk him off a few nights ago, the effect instant; the now familiar arousal begins buzzing alive under his skin wherever they’re rubbing it into his skin, leaving him leaking and desperate.

Surprisingly, they don’t touch him in any sexual way this time, though they seem pleased with his reaction; at least, they don’t try until he’s pushed to his hands and knees, Freddie wasting no time to sink a finger into Roger, coated with the aphrodisiac cream.

Roger screams himself hoarse, his voice echoing back from the cave walls. Freddie is relentless, clearly intent to coat his insides with the stuff as well, loosening Roger up expertly. Roger is so, so close to coming, when long fingers wrap around his cock, squeezing firmly, effectively cutting his impending orgasm off.

“Not quite yet,” Brian says, tone apologetic, but firm. “I’m sorry.”

Roger sobs brokenly as they continue to torment him in the most delicious of ways, until he’s opened enough to Freddie’s satisfaction, leaving Roger clenching around emptiness when he retracts his fingers.

Brian applies some of the syrupy cream to his lips, leaving them buzzing. Both him and Freddie step back, looking at him appraisingly.

“Oh, look at that,” Freddie says, eyes dark. “What a perfect offering you are.”

“Eyes like the sea,” Brian adds, thumbing along the corner of one eye. “Mesmerizing.”

“He’s ready.”

.

They bring him outside at dusk, most of the sunset-colors gone, the clear sky painted in various shades of blue and purple. The first stars are already out, and the sea-level is rising, Roger can tell, somehow, even if he doesn’t know where he is, shouldn’t know a damn thing about how the tide moves here. He’s sure of it, though, as if on instinct.

Outside the cave, the rocky landscape doesn’t change; they are in some sort of natural bay, the rocks forming a safe haven, reaching high as if to protect this place, like a cradle. Man-carved steps, battered by elements and time, lead down into the dark blue waters. In the middle of the natural pond, there’s a boulder rising out the water, mostly natural in shape, but with various carvings on it, and the top shaved off as if to make a shrine. Red vines, same as in the cave curl up around it, and there, Roger can see the red pomegranate-like fruit grow.

Beyond the shrine, there are two pillars, carved out of rock, leading to the open sea. It forms some sort of gate, beautiful and terrible creatures carved into stone, a long-lost language telling a story.

Brian and Freddie grab him under his arms gently, leading a trembling Roger down the worn stone-steps, into the water. The tide is still low, and thus the water rather shallow, only coming up to Roger’s calves at its deepest. Sooner than Roger would’ve liked, they reach the shrine, guiding him up jagged stones, until they reach the top, helping him up to kneel on the stone.

There’s something in the air, a restless energy, and Roger realizes whatever is about to happen, is going to happen if Roger doesn’t get off this sacrificial altar.

“Please,” Roger begs. “Please don’t do this. I want to go home,” he asks, desperate, feeling tears spring to his eyes.

“Oh, but darling,” Freddie says, pity in his eyes. “You are home, now.” Roger shakes his head. “Poor dear,” Freddie continues, addressing Brian. “He’s so nervous.”

“It’s gonna be alright,” Brian tells him, but Roger has trouble believing him, breath coming out in choked gasps. Brian grabs one of the gold chains, which Roger thought were mainly decorative, but he attaches it to a carved out ring, which Brian ties the chain around. “Only until Beloved is here,” he adds, running a soothing hand down Roger’s trembling back.

As one, Freddie and Brian retreat, leaving Roger chained up on a rock like a lamb for slaughter. With sluggish limbs, he tugs at the chain, which is mainly wrapped around his hip, but despite the ornamental look, it doesn’t give. Roger sniffles, shivering in the cool night air, the sheer robe not doing anything to protect him from the elements. He watches resentfully as Brian and Freddie reach the stone stairs again, climbing quickly; already, the tide is rising, and briefly, Roger hopes he’ll drown.

It would seem kinder in comparison of what will happen with him; he doesn’t want to end up like the other two, slaves to their own pleasure. Because despite being terrified, cold, and generally miserable, his cock hasn’t gone down, still half hard between his legs.

Suddenly, something bright catches his eye; the moon is rising on the horizon, already a deep red, usual for the summer-months. It bathes his surroundings in pale light, making his skin almost glow. The water continues to rise with the moon, and then, just beyond the carved out stone-pillars, the water ripples, a shape in the water moving closer.

Roger trembles, this time not from the cool wind as John slowly rises from the sea, and despite his despair, a thought strikes him; John looks otherworldly, rising out of the water. His skin is glistening, the moonlight making him gleam as he moves. And even with the moonlight dominating the night sky, John’s eyes shine brighter still.

Roger watches him with trepidation as he climbs up the rock up to the shrine, watches how muscles flex under pale skin, those red, dark markings under his skin even more vivid, and Roger is sure now that they’re moving. Roger scoots back to the very edge, curling in himself.

Finally having reached the top, John crouches a few feet before Roger, smiling genially down on him.

“Roger,” he breathes, reaching out to touch his cheek tenderly. Roger, already at the edge, has no choice but to let the touch happen, unable to retreat further. “I know you’re scared, lovely one,” John says soothingly. “But now, all is coming together.” He reaches down, plucking a fresh fruit, before turning to Roger again.

“Stop,” Roger begs him, trying to make himself smaller.

“I can’t,” John sighs, reaching out to cup Roger’s back of the head with his free hand. “The moon is rising, and you are _ripe_ – you won’t have to do much. Just follow my lead.” John tugs at Roger’s hair, tipping his head back, and even this tiny stimulation is enough for Roger to arch his back, all but presenting himself.

“Please,” he whispers, but he doesn’t know what he’s asking for.

“I know,” John murmurs, holding the fruit up over Roger, squeezing. First dribbles of juice land on Roger’s face, more juice flowing, and John tugs at his hair again, and Roger gasps, allowing the juice to dribble into his mouth, and –

Roger is suddenly _ravenous_ , uncurling his limbs, righting himself up, trying to lap up more juice, whining. This fruit, fresh from the source, tastes different, sweet and heavy, trickling down his throat deliciously, a haze of pleasure taking over his body, again, but this time leaving his stomach gurgling. A new sort of hunger surges in his chest, and he closes his mouth around the fruit, around John’s fingers, suckling eagerly, starved for _more_.

“There we are,” John chuckles, the hand in his hair massaging his scalp, and Roger can’t help but moan, leaning into the touch. “Perfect.” Roger continues to suckle at the fruit, taking eager bites here and there, and when nothing is left, he sucks eagerly at John’s fingers, until they are clean of any juice. Only then Roger leans back on his haunches, licking his lips, entire body buzzing with burning _need_.

“John,” he rasps out, blindly reaching for him. “Please, touch me –“

“I can’t yet, love,” John tells him, shifting back from his touch.

Roger feels frustration claw at him. “Why?” He sobs out. “Isn’t that why you’ve brought me here –“

“Hush, my sweet,” John tells him, thumbing his tears away. “There must be an offering first, before you can be mine.”

“I will, please, what do I need to do?” Roger begs, looking at John through misty eyes. If possible, John’s eyes shine even brighter.

“Your seed,” John says, reaching down to ghost over Roger’s clothed cock. Roger almost comes from that illusion of touch alone, so desperate he is for it now. “Give me yours – prove your devotion to me, and I will be your God, and give you my seed in return.”

John’s voice is solemn as he speaks the words, and ancient power behind them. The wind picks up momentarily, before everything goes still, as if the world is waiting with bated breath for Roger’s reply.

With a start, Roger realizes that it _is_ , that John controls everything around him, the God of the Sea, its wind, its very life. A God that will give Roger everything he wants.

“ _Yes_ ,” Roger breathes out, eyes fluttering shut. The wind picks up, tousling his hair almost playfully, and the tide, now almost at the same height as the shrine, laps at his feet.

John leans over, his lips almost brushing Roger’s. “Then please yourself in my name, lovely one. Spill yourself all over the stone, where my name is carved, and I will repay you a thousandfold.”

Blindly, Roger nods, crawling closer to the middle of the shrine. John moves out of the way, slotting himself to Roger’s back.

“Begin,” John breathes into his ear. “Please me, Roger,” he commands, and Roger nods again, moving the sheer robe out of his way, his hand wrapping firmly around his cock, mewling as pleasure curses through him.

Roger can’t think about anything else but his hand around his aching cock, about John behind him, invitingly cool, and Roger knows he’s all he needs to soothe the burning, scalding ache inside him. He strokes himself quickly, already leaking, come dribbling on the stone beneath him, into the grooves of the ancient markings etched there.

“So magnificent,” John sighs, kissing his shoulder. “Made to be loved. Will you love me too, Roger?” Roger nods, spine tingling, his toes already curling. “Call me by my name.”

“John–“ Roger gasps.

“ _No_ ,” John growls, biting at his skin. “My _real_ name.”

Roger cries out at the feel of sharp teeth breaking his skin. “ _Beloved_ ,” he wails, eyes squeezed shut as he comes, body jerking violently, only held up by Beloved’s strong hands as his come spurts all over the ancient, sea-battered stone. He shakes apart as something in his mind slots into place, sated. Complete.

Eventually, he becomes more aware of his surroundings again, still hanging limply in Beloved’s grip, and he manages to get to his hands and knees on his own. Beloved is pressing kisses all over his back.

“My lovely Roger,” Beloved purrs, sounding satisfied and happy, and Roger preens. “I accept your offering, and I will give you paradise in return. You will never want for anything, you’ll never be alone.” The moon is now at its zenith, bathing them both in moonglow. Roger feels his pretty sheer robe torn off him, along with most of the chains, and then there are long fingers rubbing over his ready hole.

“Beloved –“ he gasps, hands gripping at the soiled stone below.

“I will love you Roger,” Beloved grunts, his cock rubbing at his entrance. It feels fantastic, teasing over his hole, almost as if it had a will of its own. “I will love you with all that I am, I will fill you up with my love until you’re ripe and swollen – until you’re _bred full of it_.”

Whatever else Roger might’ve wanted to say becomes forgotten when Beloved pushes inside. Roger sobs, arching his back to meet him. Strange, Beloved fills him in all the right ways, cock feeling almost malleable as it sinks deeper and deeper into him, swelling at the base deliciously.

Something curls around his legs, slightly sticky, leaving Roger tingling. The feeling wanders over his body, but Roger barely notices, the way Beloved fucks into him leaving little room for Roger’s attention to wander. The something continues to curl around his body, holding him up entirely now. Roger sees something in the bright red moonlight, but he isn’t sure what it is, doesn’t particularly care as it attaches itself to a nipple, then the other, a weird, suctioning feeling. At the same time, it feels like little pinpricks, razor-sharp as it squirms around him.

Then, that something curls around both his wrists, tugging at him, and Roger is turned around in the air, even while never leaving him empty, Beloved’s cock continuing to stroke him deep inside.

Dazed, Roger looks up, wanting to look Beloved in his pretty silver eyes, but the sight that greets him leaves him breathless, uncomprehending.

Beloved doesn’t look much like a human at all, now; while his eyes are just as a lovely silver as ever, the rest of his face has shifted, changing shape, adorning him with alien markings that make him look even more sublime, leaving Roger to tremble in awe. The rest of his body has elongated, more limbs sprouting, changing into something looking like tentacles. Instead of a normal cock fucking into him, there are about half a dozen tentacles winding around each other, teasing into him.

“Oh, _God_ ,” Roger sighs out, tossing his head back. “Beloved.”

“My sweet Roger,” Beloved answers, leaning to cover him, too-long tongue lapping at his collarbone. “You’re being so good for me, so lovely. I will give you everything in return.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Roger moans out, feeling only bliss at Beloved’s true form, how he fills Roger so wonderfully. Tentacles snake around his cock, the tip of it – opening, like a blooming flower, closing around the head. Roger screams in ecstasy, but there too, are tentacles winding around his throat, a tentacle sliding into his open mouth, cutting off his scream. Another follows, pulsating in a frenzied rhythm, and all Roger can do is moan weakly around them.

His entire body is in the air, held up by the dozens of tentacles sliding over his naked body, holding him firmly in place, leaving Roger completely at their – at Beloved’s mercy.

“It feels so good, being inside you,” Beloved moans, otherworldly face torn with pleasure. “Can you feel it? How deep inside of you I am, ready to fill you? Do you want me to fill you, _breed you_ , my precious Roger?”

Roger can’t talk around the delicious slide of the tentacles in his mouth and down his throat, but he mewls weakly around them, and that seems enough for Beloved. Roger feels the tentacles pulse inside him, around him, and then Beloved comes, and Roger can feel sweet, syrupy fluid coating his insides, pumping his seed deep into Roger, filling him with it.

Only a small, content sigh escapes Roger as he comes himself, the tentacle wrapped around his cock drinking up everything eagerly, and Roger goes completely boneless. Slowly, the tentacles ease off his cock first, then his nipples; next, they slide out of his mouth, leaving a trail of syrupy fluid and saliva. The tentacles deep in his hole begin to retract as well, slipping out of him with an obscene squelch, leaving Roger gaping, clenching around the emptiness.

Carefully, Beloved sets him down, his release continuing to dribble out of Roger, onto the ancient shrine.

“Look at you,” Beloved marvels, a now-again human hand caressing over Roger’s sticky chest, traveling down to come rest on Roger’s flat stomach. “So full of me, so utterly _mine_.” Beloved leans down to nuzzle at his navel, pressing a kiss there.

“Yours, Beloved,” Roger breathes, eyes fixed in the sky, chest still heaving.

“I know,” he hears the pleased smile in Beloved’s voice, and Roger can’t help but think the red moon is shining its blessing upon their union.

“Come, my sweet one,” Beloved sighs, lifting him up. Roger curls into him with a content exhale. “Welcome home.”

.

Roger comes to in the bright morning light, reflected from outside, with arms around him. He smiles, lifting up his head. Brian and Freddie beam back, Brian reaching out to card through his hair tenderly.

“Hello, sweet Roger,” Freddie mumbles from behind him, leaning down to press a kiss to his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Fantastic,” he smiles, before he frowns at his gurgling stomach. “But hungry.” Brian laughs, handing him a fruit, in which Roger bites into eagerly. “Where is Beloved?” He wonders in between bites, angry at himself of not having asked before.

“He always returns to the deep sea, during the day,” Brian says, sounding wistful, yearning.

“Oh,” Roger mumbles, disappointed. “I already miss him, his - I'm feeling his absence.” He _does_ , everything in him yearning to be full of Beloved again.

“I know,” Freddie says softly, rubbing his cheek against Roger’s shoulder. “We’d love to take care of you, in his absence.” He hesitates. “We will love you as he does, even if we can’t give you what you need; will you love us, too?”

“Of course,” Roger says, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Freddie’s lips, tasting deliciously of the fruit. “I think I always have,” he says dreamily. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand it.”

“That’s alright,” Brian says, before claiming a quick kiss for himself. “You’re with us now; that’s all that matters.”

They sink down to the furs, all three of them together, forgetting about the rising sun.

Beloved is always on their minds, though.

.

“Come,” Brian laughs, tugging him outside, the sun just setting. “We’ll call him home; I don’t think I can go another round with you, you’re insatiable.” Roger flushes at the words, but it’s true; he’s been aroused for the entire day, impatient for Beloved’s return, Freddie and Brian not quite able to fill him the way Beloved did last night.

“Sing with us, Roger,” Freddie says, reaching out to hold Roger’s other hand. Together, they stand at the stony shore, looking out at the sea. Brian begins to hum, and then Freddie joins him, and Roger knows this melody, feels it deep in him, and together, they weave a song of yearning and love.

Beloved returns to them just as the sun sinks below the horizon.

.

The days bleed into weeks, but Roger barely notices; it’s the nights that really matter, when Beloved joins them in their little nest, catering to their every need, not leaving until they’re all sated, until they’re _full_.

In that time, Brian’s belly swells further, the life inside of him ripening; Brian himself grows weak and tired, but he radiates happiness. Freddie’s little softness around his belly eventually grows into more as well, and Roger can’t keep his eyes and hands off them both, feeling both elated and envious – he wants to be filled like that, too.

And, one day, as he and Freddie roll around in their nest, Brian reclining at the outskirts, Freddie brushes over his belly, and stops, looking down in delight.

“Roger, sweet thing, look!” He exclaims, and Roger looks down in confusion, not understanding. Freddie’s hands cradle his belly carefully, where a barely noticeable swell is present.

“Oh,” Roger blinks, before the realization sinks in, and he surges up to kiss Freddie, euphoric, laughing.

“With us, forever, now,” Brian says softly as he scoots close, rubbing over Roger’s belly, smile tired but sweet. And Roger knows, _had known_ , that he belongs here, for quite some time now, but now, it feels like he’s truly slotted into place, like he belongs.

.

The sea is stormy as Brian, some weeks later, doubles over in pain, his belly deformed, tiny movements under his skin, dark red vines snaking up under his skin all around his bulging stomach.

Roger rubs his own, slightly swollen stomach in sympathy, as he helps him up, Freddie on Brian’s other side as they guide Brian outside with some difficulty, right to the stone steps, where Brian sags down, turning over to his back, long legs sinking into the rising water. Beloved isn’t here yet, the sun not having quite set, but Brian is whimpering between them, and they ease him further down into the water.

The water colors quickly red around Brian, who is struggling to breathe, his belly convulsing.

And then Beloved arrives, looking hurried and face pinched in worry as he shoos Roger and Freddie aside, kneeling down next to Brian, holding him close.

“My most beloved star,” Beloved whispers to Brian. “You’re doing so well, I’m sorry for your pains.” He sounds heartbroken, and Roger feels grief at it.

“I’m better, now that you’re here,” Brian whispers, before he jerks, burying his face into Beloved’s chest.

“Just a bit more,” Beloved soothes him, looking intently down into the water. In the fading light of dusk, Roger can’t see much, but there are little shapes in the water, first one, then two, then more. Beloved laughs, delighted and proud, and then Brian twitches for the last time, falling back onto the stone, chest heaving. Beloved sinks into the bloodied water, reaching out his hands as little shapes swim excitedly around him.

Roger watches, fascinated, as he swims out with them, leading them past the gate, merrily playing with his brood. As they leave, likely to swim into the vast depths of the ocean, Beloved returns to Brian’s side, lifting him tenderly and climbing up the shrine with him, unperturbed by the blood between Brian’s legs.

Beloved lays Brian out, who’s breathing shallowly, eyes unseeing, and suddenly, Roger feels worried; Brian looks white, almost lifeless, and this should be a day of celebration. Beloved lowers himself between Brian’s spread legs, beginning to lap up the blood, cleaning him tenderly from the signs of his labor, until only milky white skin is visible, and then Beloved plucks a fruit, breaking it in half.

“One more, for me, my lovely star,” Beloved asks, no, _begs_ of Brian as he feeds him the fruit.

Brian blinks up, disoriented, but the fruit seems to help as some color returns to his cheeks.

“Beloved,” Brian grunts, voice shaky, and Roger’s heart aches for his pain. “I’m sorry – there weren’t as many as before – I don’t know how many more I –“

“Hush, pretty star,” Beloved shushes him, lifting him into his arms again. “I am very pleased with you, hm? And I am overjoyed you’re still with us,” he mumbles softly, cradling Brian close.

He climbs down the shrine, coming to shore where Freddie and Roger are waiting eagerly on bloodied steps.

“Come, my loves,” Beloved says quietly, as to not wake Brian, who has fallen asleep, exhausted and worn. “Tonight we will rest with him. We will celebrate tomorrow.”

.

“Is it always this hard?” Roger asks Freddie quietly in the morning, moving over his tiny bump, feeling a swell of fear.

“Not the first few times,” Freddie smiles at him. “It’s a great honor, and we all love to bring life to Beloved’s seed, but eventually, it takes its toll.” They remain quiet for a moment, mindful of Brian, still passed out next to them. “But the first time is wonderful,” Freddie says brightly, cupping Roger’s bump, rubbing soothingly over it.

Roger hums, reaching out to stroke over Freddie’s much larger belly, feeling the movement under his hand. “You’re soon due, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Freddie smiles brightly. Roger smiles at him, but he feels a bit wistful.

.

Over the next few weeks, Brian recovers, though he still looks paler than ever before, and Beloved is gentler in his lovemaking, almost hesitant at times. And it’s when Brian has a little softness again around his middle, that Roger knows these will be the last few months with him, and he, along with Freddie, are adamant of spoiling him.

.

Then, it’s Freddie’s time, and the difference is clear; he is clearly in some pain, but his wails are closer to moans as he lies on the same stony steps, Beloved encouraging him as the life in Freddie takes shape, the sea welcoming her new children with dancing little waves, the pale moon high in the night sky.

There is no waiting with bated breath to see if Freddie is well; Freddie stands with only minimal pain, welcoming Beloved as he returns from bringing the little ones out to the sea.

This night is one full of joy and celebration.

.

A few weeks pass, and then, one day where the winds whisper about an oncoming storm, Roger feels a pull of pain in his stomach, his swollen belly convulsing with his little beloved ones suddenly squirming frantically inside of him.

Freddie and Brian react immediately, both helping him stand, herding him outside.

It doesn’t hurt as much as Roger expected, as he lies down on the stone steps, legs trembling. But, he’s anxious, afraid something will go wrong – Beloved is so good to him, what if he fucks this up? What if –

“Beloved,” Brian says, then, sounding relieved. “Come, he’s quite anxious.”

“My sweet, sunbright Roger,” Beloved says, cradling him close, and Roger takes comfort in his arms, choking back a sob. “Are you in pain?”

“N-no,” Roger gasps out as he feels his stomach convulse again. “Not much,” he amends. “I just want to please you, Beloved, what if –“

Beloved cuts him off with a tender kiss. “You’re so wonderful, lovely one,” he promises Roger. “You please me so much, you will please me with this, too.” It’s both assurance and a command, and Roger nods blindly as Beloved continues to kiss the top of his head.

And then something surges in him, and he spreads his legs wide, eyes unseeing as he feels the first of the little beloveds squirm out of him. The feeling is so sudden and _filling_ that he moans, tossing his head back. Beloved hums in appreciation, his eyes now fixed on the little one.

Roger doesn’t know how much time passes, but he counts each of the little beloveds leaving him, until his stomach is flattened again, and Beloved leaves his side briefly to greet his newest brood properly. Roger sags back onto the stone, breathing hard. He feels empty, more than he has felt in months.

Freddie crouches beside him, Brian not far behind, as they pet him. “See?” Freddie smiles cheekily. “Told you the first time would be wonderful.”

“Yeah,” Roger rasps out, feeling only bliss.

Beloved returns, a wide smile on his face.

“Eleven, my sweet Roger,” he exclaims. Both Brian and Freddie startle, eyes wide. “You did so well! Come,” he says, sweeping him up in his arms, even twirling a bit.

Roger laughs in delight, letting himself be carried inside, with Freddie and Brian close on their heels, smiling just as bright.

That night, after Beloved has taken him apart, and then Brian, and Freddie, and then Roger again, he lies between their bodies, stroking over Brian’s tiny bump, with Beloved slotted against his back, not asleep but as much as Beloved rests while on land, and Freddie on Brian’s other side, Roger feels happy. He feels complete, and he thanks all the stars in the universe for this very moment.

Roger wishes he could remain here, with Brian, with Freddie, with Beloved, their little brood out in the sea, dancing across the waves.

Sleep welcomes him like sea spray on his face on a hot summer day.

Roger dreams of the sea.

**Author's Note:**

> So how'd y'all like Tentacle God John👀


End file.
